


The Heart of the Labyrinth (The Thorn Heart Remix)

by Missy



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Abandonment, Backstory, Bonding, Developing Relationship, Drama, Gen, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Ariadne can remember, there has always been three of them.</p><p>Herself, the monster and the labyrinth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of the Labyrinth (The Thorn Heart Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



> This is a remix of Zenka's The Heart of the Labyrinth, which can be read: [Here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6903907)

There have always been three, going down the years, tracing them back over like pigment on flagstone. As far back as Ariadne can remember it has always been so. She, her brother, and the labyrinth.

She was no more than three when her mother told her that she was expecting a brother soon. Ariadne’s response had included mild confusion and anger; she did not wish to be supplanted in her father and mother’s affections. Young but mischievous, she waited and waited for her sibling to emerge, as her mother’s stomach swelled and her smiles grew thinner and more desperately pressed. She was still no older than three, and ultimately the days flitted by as bright and bejeweled as a butterfly’s wing.

The day of the birth she had been spirited off to a far-away island; her father’s holding in Naxos, filled with white sand beaches and beautiful trees pregnant with fat dates. Many months passed by before his people returned to claim her again. 

He did not tell her what had happened to her mother, to her brother, until she wandered too far into the undertangles of weeds and vines and toward the smooth bleached walls of the interior holding. She had never been to this place before; it was great fun to gambol about without restraint. When the craftsman came to save her, she remembered only the beautiful wonder of the place. It drew her back, again and again. Always, she burned bay leaves in offering to Poseidon in thanks for her survival. Every sacrifice that fed her brother fed the God as well.

But always, she returned.

***

“How does my brother-monster?”

_Well. He is satisfied. He has eaten._

The answer always varied slightly, but Ariadne was satisfied with the results of the query each time. He was happy and safe, and she loved him at a distance, the way someone might love the idea of a pleasant trip to the beach or the promise of a holiday.

This had been so for as many years as there were memories that Ariadne could recall; from when she was a small child and her brother was nothing but a reference to a nightmare, a memory sharp and painful like a thorn stuck deep to the heart of a raven.

Ariadne was fourteen when she received her first glimpse of the snow-white bones of the victims her brother has shredded. Ugly and sharp, the labyrinth allowed her a single glance at her repeated entreaty, but no more, nothing other than the slightest hint of blanched whiteness that reminded her of sand. 

She had always had the courage to venture to the labyrinth. This, this deterred her for a moment, kept her outside of it and fearful for months.

Never did she ask about the victims before. After that sight she refused to think about them ever again.

But even after that sight, to her shock, she returned. She supposed because it had always been a part of her; she supposed because since she was a toddler she'd walked among the stones and traps of the maze. It had bled into her skin like coal veins into marble. She could spend hours there walking alone in the general silence. Yet the memory clung to the tip of her lip like a sore, haze-dreams of nightmarish memories. Sp she took control; bade her father leave her to commanded it with a kind hand. Old enough now to completely master her brother’s feedings, she knew how to rid the maze of its bones. It cleansed itself, healed itself, and ultimately saved itself.

Her father once warned her not to approach the Minotaur but she – clever, heedless, and romantic – did not listen.

Ariadne never listened. That was the problem of her existence.

The memory was of red eyes staring down at her, unrecognizing and vicious. 

She asked the Labyrinth for nothing more and allowed it to operate with tender attention of her own.

***

The warrior of Athens was golden and tall, bright of eye and quick of feet. Ariadne’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him. 

All he needed was a golden thread. And her brother’s skin.

She allowed herself to question her own virtues. She allowed herself to consider the fact that her monster-brother’s death meant this man’s love in her back pocket.

Ariadne had never had the love of a man before. She barely had a brother. The rare abstract concept of him was less powerful than the promise of motherhood and love.

She connected to the labyrinth, on the strong mental wavelength that lay between herself and the maze since she was small and even more tender.

_Let him live._

It was a prayer and a hope all at once.

***

He took her so far, with his bloody hands and his feet. His promise, honey-sweet, ended up turning to bitter dross lies. He took her upon his polished pine boat and floated her to Naxos, where she woke alone.

She found a merchant ship willing to take her back to Crete, and on the beach she collapsed, raging silently into the ugly and vast ocean before her.

 _I gave all for you!_ she shouted at the brackish-brown waves, unheard, unseen. The bruised-blue cloak rippled in the wind and she fell, defeated, in the sand outside of the labyrinth. 

Then, she heard it again. That quiet, assured voice. 

_Princess?_

_”Labyrinth,”_ she murmured. “I have done a foolish thing…”

_I do not understand._

“Never mind,” she said, gathering her stola about her shoulders and casting one look back at the amber waters. She tried to feel nothing at all as it slapped and kissed the sandy bar behind her.

_Fear not the loss of that braggart. Another waits for you._

Ariadne stopped in mid-stride at his declaration. “What do you mean?”

_You shall see. Sleep within my bounds, Ariadne of Crete. You will be safe there._

Ariadne’s step quivered. She took a moment to consider the offer. The words rolled around in her desperate, aching, lonely heart. She could go home or stay here, but there was no bringing her brother back to life.

She stood straighter. And then Ariadne of Crete traced her steps back toward dry land, and her maze.


End file.
